As Christodulos was about to reply, the shop-bell rang, and a young lady entered.  Like nine out of ten Athenian girls, she had plain features.  Her teeth were white and even, and her hair was beautiful; but that was all.  Happily, in this world of ours, the ugliest little goose generally finds some honest gander to admire her.  Dimitri, the son of the pastry cook, ran forward with a cry of delight, exclaiming, “It’s Photini!”

“Gentlemen, let us talk of something else,” whispered Christodulos.  “We must not alarm this charming girl with tales about brigands.”

He then introduced Photini to us.  She was, it appeared, the daughter of one of his old companions-in-arms, Colonel John.  Colonel John was apparently a man of means, for Photini was very fashionably dressed, and she was being educated at the best boarding-school in Athens.  Her father had asked his old friend to allow Photini to come and chat with us, and improve Her knowledge of French and German.  The girl, however, was too timid to enter into conversation, and, to judge by the direction of her glances, it was not French or German that she would have liked to speak if she could, but English.

John Harris, I admit, is a very good-looking man; but the way Photini began to devour him with her eyes, astonished me.  I was sitting next to her at table; but she did not utter a word till the end of the meal.  Then she asked if he were married.

“No, he isn’t,” I replied, adding with a touch of malice, “I think he would be glad of an introduction to you.”

For something had occurred which made me suspect that she was the richest heiress in Greece.  During the meal, Dimitri came running in with a newspaper, and looking far from happy.

“Hadgi Stavros has been defeated,” he cried.  “The troops have burnt his camp and broken up his army, and pursued him to the marshes of Marathon.”

“It’s a lie!” shouted Christodulos, his face red with anger.  “The King of the Mountains could take Athens if he wanted to, and cut the throat of every man in it.”

This, I thought, was strange language from an honest pastry cook, who was also a lieutenant in the militia.  I was still more surprised when I turned to Photini, and saw that her face was wet with tears.

“You see, my dear Harris,” I said, when he and Lobster and I were talking the matter over in my bedroom, “you have soon got the introduction you wanted.”

“That ugly little over-dressed thing!” exclaimed Harris.  “I wouldn’t marry her to save my life.”

“Well, at all events,” I said, “I shall be able to begin my botanical researches to-morrow, now that her excellent father has retired to his mountains.”

II.—­The King of the Mountains Company, Limited

The next morning, I strapped on my collecting-case, and explored Mount Parnassus.  There I came upon Dimitri and two ladies.

“The old woman is Mrs. Simons, English, very rich,” said Dimitri to me.  “The pretty girl is her daughter.  I’m their guide.  I chose this excursion in the hope of meeting you.  But whatever is the matter with the women?”